The Terror of St Trinians
by Kennie Gajos
Summary: The drabble continues...
1. Chapter One

I own neither Buffy the Vampire Slayer nor St Trinians (although I wish I did) and I make no profit from the creation and/or distribution of this story. Actually, I don't own anything, so suing really would be a waste of time.

Also, I haven't actually seen the new St. Trinian's movie yet (I'm going on Saturday!!) so please don't spoiler me via reviews. Remember, a happy writer is a productive writer!

**The Terror of St Trinians**

"Excuse me."

The Minister of Education looked up from the papers on his desk to see a distinguished looking gentleman standing in the entrance to his office. His accents and mannerisms marked him as a fellow member of the British upper classes and so the Minister waved him in.

"What can I do for you?" He asked the man as he took a seat. "Mr...?"

The man took off his wire glasses and began to polish them. "Giles." He leaned forward, his expression eager and intense. "I was wondering if you could spare a few moments to discuss a school with me."

"Certainly!" The Minister said beaming. "Got a sprog ready to take the plunge? Where were you thinking of sending them?"

Mr Giles began to polish all the more furiously. "Actually," he said. "It concerns some rather distressing reports I have heard about a school called St. Trinians."

The Minister moaned, his face had he but known it, paler than a vampire's, and he reached for his tablets.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N**:  
Although I liked the new movie, I wasn't intending to write another chapter of this, having quite a few ongoing plots at the moment. But all of your kind reviews kept the memory fresh in my mind and, last week, this chapter just _popped_ into my head!

I would have posted it sooner, but my PC monitor blew up and I was unable to access my computer until I'd tracked down a new one. A new (and much bigger) monitor is now in place and, with no further ado, I'd like to get on with the story.

**Chapter Two**  
When he was frustrated, Giles cleaned his glasses. Andrew had noticed that. Just like he noticed that Giles was cleaning them right now. Sensing that now was probably not the best time to tell Giles that he'd just broken the last Orb of Thessulah or about the strange golden compass that two Slayers had recently discovered in a vampire's nest in Oxford, Andrew quickly made his excuses and exited the room, leaving Giles to his musings.

That assiduous gentleman sat in his chair, ferociously cleaning his glasses as he stared into space. He barely noticed Andrew's leaving, his mind focussed solely on the phone call he had not received. It had been almost four months since he'd had the meeting with the Minister of Education, a meeting which had intrigued him enough (especially after the Minister's sudden retirement, two days later and barely twenty-four hours before the new school year was due to start) to send in his own undercover agent.

Posing as an English teacher, one of the few surviving Watchers had infiltrated the school. At first her reports had arrived as regularly as clockwork and appalling though the details were, there had been no accounts of the demon summoning, warlock worshipping or drunken bacchanals that Giles had feared from the rumours.

But, just as he'd breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to send in the slayers to shut down a girls school, the reports which had been coming in so faithfully began to tail off. His mole ceased begging to be allowed back to the Council Headquarters in London and began to send only one or two lines about the girls winning a hockey match, or being accepted into some school challenge television programme instead, as though he cared about such trivial matters when the fate of the world hung in the balance.

By the time the television programme final arrived, not only had his spy ceased sending her reports in, but St Trinians had somehow, God only knew how, made it into the final round, playing against Cheltenham Ladies College. Idly, Giles remembered that, had he been born a female, he would have been sent to Cheltenham instead of Eton, where he'd met Ethan. Dismissing the rogue memory from his mind, Giles frowned at the phone that sat next to the awful machine on his desk, willing it to ring.

He'd used the commotion of the live television show to send a message to his agent, recalling her home, and then he'd waited. A week had gone by. Term had ended. Christmas had arrived and still she hadn't returned. Finally he'd been forced to send another communiqué, ordering her to call him at the office, by five o'clock on the 31st of December. It was now, Giles glanced at the clock, a quarter past six.

Giles sighed and gave his glasses a final wipe, feeling the glass squeak beneath his fingertips. He'd wait another quarter of an hour, he decided, placing the glasses back on his face as he planned his next move logically.


End file.
